


This is the End (of the World)

by enigma731



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Trailer, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731
Summary: Xandar is a planet of color -- blues and greens visible from at least a fifty clicks away, not unlike the images Gamora's seen of Earth.Now it's practically blotted out by the thick acrid blanket of smoke that fills its atmosphere. She sees the planet as a scorched silhouette, illuminated by starlight and the dim orange glow of flames still burning closer to the ground.“What the--” Peter breathes from the co-pilot’s seat, not bothering to finish his sentence, all of the expletives implied. “I’m not getting any life forms down there.”Infinity War spec ficlet.





	This is the End (of the World)

Gamora knows as soon as she sees the smoke.

Xandar is a planet of color -- blues and greens visible from at least a fifty clicks away, not unlike the images she’s seen of Earth. 

This time, when they emerge from the jump, there’s a horrible moment where she sees none of what she expects and thinks that the entire planet is gone. 

In the next breath, she realizes that it isn’t, that it’s still _whole_ but practically blotted out by the thick acrid blanket of smoke that now fills its atmosphere. She sees the planet as a scorched silhouette, illuminated by starlight and the dim orange glow of flames still burning closer to the ground. 

“What the--” Peter breathes from the co-pilot’s seat, not bothering to finish his sentence, all of the expletives implied. He looks down at the read-out in front of him, voice still filled with disbelief when he speaks again. “I’m not getting any life forms down there.”

“Stop,” Gamora tells Rocket sharply, because he’s the one currently in control -- or the illusion of it, anyway. “Stop here, calculate a new course or just -- retrace our last one. But _do not get any closer._ ”

Then she turns abruptly and leaves the bridge, because she thinks she might be sick and Groot does not need to see that.

Her feet carry her instinctively to her bunk, though she hasn’t actually slept here in over a year. There are no sheets or blankets, she notes numbly, nor is there any semblance of the non-existent safety she so desperately needs right now. Yet here she is, standing in front of a bare mattress like a fool who thinks it might solve her problems.

“Hey,” comes Peter’s voice from behind her, and she jumps, realizing she’s been completely unaware of his arrival. Gamora turns, and he offers her a small, unsteady attempt at a smile. “You looking to build a blanket fort?”

The back of her throat burns as she swallows. “ _He_ was here.” There isn’t any doubt in her mind, no other possibilities worth so much as considering. She has never been a superstitious person, but there’s no ignoring her gut on this one.

“We don’t _know_ that,” says Peter, ever the optimist when it comes to Thanos -- though Gamora is starting to catch on to the fact that this may be his brand of denial. “There could have been...an accident?”

“Sure,” she says bitterly. “Sure, there could have been an accident that wiped out all forms of life on Xandar without so much as a distress call.”

He blows out a breath that sounds decidedly shaky. “All right. All right, probably not.” He runs a hand through his hair, face pale even in the dim light of the lower deck. 

“He came for the Orb,” says Gamora, the pieces falling together, her thoughts accelerating again as the shock wears off. “He came for the Orb, and then he -- He _used_ it on Xandar, as Ronan would have.”

“Why would he do that?” asks Peter, the fear in his voice making the question sound oddly petulant. “I mean, once he already had the Orb, why not just move on?”

She shrugs. “Because he could. Or perhaps just because it pleased him.”

“But _why_?” he repeats, his voice rising in pitch, as though she can somehow take back what’s happened. “How is that possibly strategic?”

Gamora shakes her head. “It isn’t about being strategic. Thanos doesn’t rely on strategy, he operates on raw power. And intimidation.”

“But--” he tries a third time, and now his voice is dangerously close to a whine.

“Stop it!” she interrupts, tasting bile again. It feels as though the coil of tension inside of her has snapped, tenuous grasp on rational thought suddenly giving way to the freefall of panic. “ _Stop._ This is not about strategy. This is not about reason. And it most certainly is not about _you._ ”

“I never said--” he starts, bristling, but she has no time for it.

“Don’t you get it?” she growls. “Xandar is gone. Every person -- _every living being_ \-- on it dead. And it is our fault. No. _My_ fault.” She would vomit, she thinks, if all of her muscles weren’t far too tight. Instead it feels as though her stomach is trying to rip itself apart, acid burning its way up her chest.

“Whoa,” Peter breathes, holding up both palms as though in physical surrender. “Whoa, how can you possibly--”

“How can I not?” She steps into his personal space, notes the way he doesn’t back up, the way he _never_ backs up, the way he trusts her like a fool. “It is _my fault._ If I hadn’t given the Orb to the Nova Corps--”

“ _You_ didn’t,” says Peter, catching her by the shoulders. “ _We_ did.”

“Oh,” she snarls, shrugging him off roughly. “Oh, that makes it much better. I will be sure to share the credit for this genocide.”

“Gamora--”

Loss is a funny, tricky thing. If anyone had asked her a mere hour ago, she would have confidently told them that she had no homeworld, not since childhood. But now, seeing the ashes of Xandar, all she can think about is how it has been their base for the past four years, how it was the place where her new life began. How it is one of the places she will forever associate with her odd, semi-functional family. She thinks of Peter, drinking to his new friends until he’d fallen asleep on the couch beside her in their Nova-provided quarters, utterly impervious to the danger he ought to see in her. Of Drax, lighting candles to finally put his wife and daughter to rest. Of Rocket, meeting the Groot who is not the friend he’d lost, but one he loves all the same.

And now it’s gone, wiped from existence. Now she is a helpless little girl again, carrying the barren void of space in her chest where _home_ used to be.

“Xandar is _gone_ ,” she answers, the words tumbling from her lips before she’s even thought them through, her voice breaking roughly over them. “And Thanos has the Orb, which means he can do this to any world he pleases.” She laughs mirthlessly. “Here I thought I was finished being his pawn. I handed it right to him.”

“ _Gamora_ ,” Peter says again, and this time the intensity in his voice makes it clear that he isn’t going to be interrupted. He takes both of her hands, then slides his up to her wrists, thumbs resting against the places where her pulse is thundering along. “Look. I’m not gonna argue that this isn’t awful. It’s _awful._ It’s worse than awful. And, yeah, maybe our actions played a part in it. But you have done _everything_ in your power to stop this from happening.”

“And it wasn’t enough,” she insists, though she doesn’t pull away this time. Her head is swimming as the adrenaline begins to ebb, only to surge again as she’s reminded over and over again of the horror in front of them. She wonders if she might pass out, and if that might be merciful. “Thanos has the Orb. Which means he is finally ready to make his move on the rest of the galaxy.”

“Okay,” says Peter, loosening his grip on her wrists to run his hands up and down her arms, the warmth and strength of them making her realize that she’s shaking. “Okay, so what do you wanna do? Do you wanna run? Find some tropical planet and just -- just enjoy whatever we’ve got left? Or do you wanna try to fight? Because I’ll do anything you say, except stand here and watch you torture yourself.”

“Fighting will be meaningless,” she says darkly. She cannot defeat Thanos; it’s been drilled into her more than anything else in her life. 

She tries to imagine herself running away, hiding, attempting to find a few more days’ happiness with the galaxy burning around her. Peter means what he says, she knows -- he’d be right there with her, is committed to her, to the rest of their family, above all else. But she also knows how he sees her, the person she’s grown to be out of the chances he and the others have given her. She knows who she _is_ , regardless of who she was made to be once.

“Fighting will be meaningless,” she repeats, though this time her tone is a tiny bit less despondent. “But I -- I don’t think we have a choice.”

He nods once, firmly, then lets go of her arms and pulls her into a tight hug. For a moment, she allows herself to hold onto him, to find a modicum of solace in his familiar scent, the sound of his heartbeat, in rhythm with hers. 

Then she pulls away and meets his eyes at last. “I guess we had better get going. We don’t have any time to lose.”

She is going to die, she thinks. They all are. 

She only hopes that it will matter.


End file.
